Rating: M
Genre: Psychology, One-Shot
Warnings: Death and (probably for some) disturbing thought patterns.
Disclaimer: I own nothing of any Assassin Creed.
A/N: So, I really don't want to sound in this like I approve of killing. I just thought that some Assassin's might think that way in their time, because let's face it: people in the past were cruel to the common men (and occasional noble or woman, of course). Some justice just had to be brought down and I don't think the people of that time would have been upset over losing a tyrant or something like that (if Assassin's had existed in AC fashion). Just wanted to make it clear that I do not approve of Killers in our time where they can be properly judged by the law (even if sometimes they still need to work on those).
Death and Life
He had wondered about this a long time ago as it was not uncommon in his time to kill someone – what would it feel like? He had never imagined it, never answered himself or asked someone else this question, it had simply lingered in the back of his head without solution. But now, now he knew and it wasn't as horrible or world changing as he had thought. He had felt it – the jerking of muscles as his hidden blade had sunk into the flesh, the short and sharp intake of breath of realization, the quiver of the body and receding heartbeat, slowly fading away. Had seen those eyes widen a fraction in shock or perhaps fear of death, had seen lips stutter for a second, forming an unspoken, too late plea for life and had felt the warm blood pooling in his hand, flowing over and staining him – marking him a killer, he had thought.
However the world had continued moving, the sun still shone and he felt no different than before, except for the heartracing realization that he had killed someone, had taken someone's life and future. Suddenly his throat dried up and panic hit him out of nowhere.
Killed... Killed. Killed! He had killed!
For a few moments he was silent and terrified and then he remembered what that man had done all his life and satisfaction settled into his heart – peace even. Death judged all men equal like a God – he had only brought that man before his judge for his cruelty and he would do so again. He was an Assassin, no judge, but he was Death's persecutor it would seem, like all of his brothers. Silently he walked away, no sound was made by his white robes, and readjusted his hood over his head, hiding his piercing, glowing eyes. Perhaps someday there would come a day where people like that man could be judged and punished by the people without murder. But now, here in his time, there was only Death or Life and Life, unfortunately, was losing the game of existence.
When a scream finally echoed through the streets was the Assassin long gone and once people knew who had died was there no mourning, only prayers offered to a haunted soul. If there was a time of criminals being able to live would he certainly never see it. Until then would he continue to stalk those who deserved to be visited by Death's shadow and take their lives with remorse, but without guilt.
And so his life continued until one day he too would stand before Death as the judged one.